


Bradford Pears

by Reinfoxy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Gen, Not Shippy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some ships and stuff later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reinfoxy/pseuds/Reinfoxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren Jeager was just an ordinary high school student. He forgot to do his homework sometimes, left his books at home, and fell asleep in class on occasion. He expected to graduate, to move on, to go to college, to live his life. He didn't expect the outbreak. He didn't expect the choking fear, the paranoia, the grief, the pain... He didn't expect to see his friends eaten alive.</p><p>But life is full of surprises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When the War was Just a Game

**Author's Note:**

> blame amc's dead white and blue marathon for this

**March 10, 2014**

Eren Jaeger hated Bradford Pear trees, and, really, who could blame him? When one stops to think about it, they're actually quite useless. They're abundant in neighborhoods and subdivisions because they grow like weeds. They look like giant Q-tips and shower little white blossoms that make it look like it's snowing in April. They grow fast, but they don't know when to stop, getting bigger and bigger until eventually they're too big to support their own weight... and then the slightest breeze sends them crashing down on themselves.

And the smell... the God-awful smell...

Eren wrinkled his nose as he passed by a row of the offenders. “Dammit, Armin,” he muttered, holding his sleeve to his mouth. “We should have driven. Mikasa had the right idea leaving early. It smells like horse-shit out here.”

Armin shrugged and readjusted his book-bag (which was approximately the same size that he was, by Eren's estimation). “It's not so bad,” Eren, he said. “It's nice out. It's the first time it hasn't rained in awhile.”

“I'd rather it be raining,” Eren muttered, fake gagging as they passed another duo of Bradfords.

“Besides,” Armin continued in a teasing tone. “You could probably use the exercise. When's the last time you went outside?”

“Shut up,” Eren replied crossly.

It was tradition for Armin, Eren, and Eren's sister Mikasa to walk to school when the weather was nice since their neighborhood was a relatively short distance from the high school. It worked well freshman and sophomore year when none of them had their licenses. They got to spend their mornings together and skipped out on riding the loud, cramped bus, which was definitely a plus. During junior year, however, came the freedom of driving wherever and whenever, and with that came laziness (at least on Eren's part). So when it was cold, hot, or Eren just didn't feel like walking (which, if we're being honest, was most days) driving was always an option. Mikasa usually had to be at school early for sports (it was softball on that particular day), and Armin never wanted to walk by himself.

So mornings senior year were generally spent driving.

However, Armin had guilted his friend into walking that day. Eren, for reasons he could not recall, had agreed, and there they were. It was about 7:45 AM, and the air was heavy with humidity. Dew shimmered on the grass and mailboxes.

“It smells like ass,” Eren grumbled. “No—like dead fish. Wait. Dead fish ass. Dead fish ass covered in a layer of shit! And add some rotting flesh to the mix too.”

Armin laughed and shook his head. “I think you're making it out as worse than it actually is, you know.”

“No, I’m not,” Eren said. “Bradford Pear trees are the worst, and no one is gonna tell me otherwise.”

“I didn’t know you were so passionate about trees,” Armin said.

“Bleh,” Eren spat as he wiped a white pear blossom that had stuck to his cheek. “Not all trees. Just these fuckers.”

“Yeah, okay,” Armin said with an eye roll. “Anyway, have you finished the government homework yet?”

Eren gave him a strange look, as if his blonde friend had just grown a second head. “Wh… homework?”

“Yes, Eren. Homework.”

Eren shrugged. “Guess not.”

“Remind me how you’re passing that class again?” Armin chuckled.

Eren flashed him a grin and a thumbs-up. “With my charms and good looks, of course!”

Armin shook his head. “Good luck with that.” They paused as they came across an intersection, waiting for the little white man to tell them it was safe to cross. “It’s not due until tomorrow.”

“Eh, I still won’t do it, probably,” Eren said.

It was early, which meant that there weren’t many cars out—perhaps it would be different in a less rural area, but there wasn’t much going on in north Georgia. After a red pickup motored past, Eren and Armin hurried across the crosswalk even though the sign still said to wait.

After that, it was a five minute walk to the school. “I have to head over to calculus early to talk to Mr. Burns about the test, so I’ll see you in government, okay?” Armin said.

Eren nodded. “Yeah, see you then.” He waved and Armin disappeared into the small crowd at the school’s entrance. The campus was spread out into multiple buildings, and most of the math classes were on the other end of campus. Armin’s blonde hair disappeared behind a building, and Eren was left standing alone in the parking lot.

There were only a few minutes left before classes started, so Eren started heading over to his first period class—English. There were already a few people in the classroom when he got there. Just as the bell rang, Eren took his usual seat in the back of the class.

He didn’t really know anyone in that class, so he just watched everyone file into the room in the six minutes they gave students to transition between classes. Eren crossed his arms on his desk and lowered his head, suppressing a yawn. Armin had texted him extra early to make sure he was up and ready to walk. Eren groaned and collapsed on his desk. Maybe they were watching a movie or something class so he could take a nap.

But Mrs. Paine had other plans. When the tardy bell rang, she walked to the front of the class, high heels clicking, and clasped her hands together. “Well, I hope all of you did the reading,” she said.

 _Haha, nope,_ Eren thought.

“Everyone get out a sheet of paper for the quiz.”

Quiz. _Shit_ , Eren cursed inwardly. _What book are we reading again?_ Um… He took a discreet look in his book-bag as he rifled through his binders trying to find a clean piece of paper. Oh, right. _Crime and Punishment_. Gross. He eventually settled on ripping a page from his biology binder and hurriedly erasing the few lines of notes he had scribbled. It wasn’t like he was ever actually going to look at his notes anyway.

As he was smoothing out the crumpled paper, the Smartboard flickered to life, showing a set of five questions about Part One.

Eren bit his tongue and scribbled one through five in the paper’s margins, leaving a few spaces between each.

Okay, question number one.

1\. Why did Raskolnikov kill the pawnbroker?

Who the hell was Raskolnikov?! Eren stared at the question for a solid thirty seconds before shrugging, accepting his fate of failure, and writing: Because he had a shitty name?

Welp, one question down.

He answered the rest of the questions quickly, none of which he knew the answer to because he hadn’t even been bothered to read the first page of the novel, and was the first to hand his paper in. Mrs. Paine gave him an odd look as he slammed the pitiful piece of paper down on her desk before wandering back to his seat. He watched the students next to him pull out a second leaf of paper to continue his answers and scoffed. Seriously, there were only five questions. He knew he did a piss poor job, but he also knew you didn’t need to write a goddamn novel to get credit.

Now feeling pretty down, his facade of indifferent grace failing, Eren kept his head down throughout the class as Mrs. Paine attempted to lead the class in a discussion of _Crime and Punishment_ (which ended up being mostly one-sided on her part). Raskolnikov? Rodya, Marmeladov, Svidrigailov? Eren couldn’t even follow the discussion. Russian names were weird.

It felt like hours had passed instead of fifty minutes when the bell finally rang. Eren shoved his things into his book-bag (which was falling apart) and bolted for the door as Mrs. Paine called out, “Remember to read part two! See you all tomorrow.”

Eren felt like he had been suffocating in that class. Usually it wasn’t that bad. “Mondays,” he grumbled.

At least second period wasn’t so bad: art. Eren hadn’t wanted to take it. He really, really hadn’t, but he had to have a “fine arts” credit to graduate. Band and chorus would have required him to do actual work, so art it was. He still had to do some work, but it was limited to slapping paint on a piece of paper and making crude clay structures. And at least he had a friend in the class.

“Hey, Marco,” Eren said, suppressing a yawn as he stuffed his book-bag in a cubby (the teacher insisted on using cubbies—it made Eren feel like he was in fucking kindergarten again) before pulling a stool up to his usual spot. The tables were designed for two people, and Marco Bodt occupied the other space.

Marco, who had already settled in, waved. “Good morning,” he said. “How are you?”

Eren slumped in his stool. “Tired. How the fuck are you always so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” He made a exaggerated gesture with his hands.

Marco shrugged. “I dunno. Here, I got your project for you.” He placed a blob of wire and paper mache on my half of the desk. “I already got the paste and newspaper.”

“Great,” Eren muttered. “Yeah, thanks.” He started tearing strips of newspaper as more students filed into the classroom. They had been working on their current project for about a week, and Eren didn’t have much to show for it. The assignment was to make a paper mache animal, but Eren’s was looking more like an ungodly affront to both nature and art. It was supposed to be a dog.

“How is yours so good?” Eren whined as he glanced at Marco’s animal. It was a deer—or at least, it was going to be when it was finished—with thin stretching legs, an arching neck, and a narrow head. It had one foot raised, its body curved, and its head raised and alert.

Marco blushed slightly. “It’s not that good.”

“Shut up. Yes it is.”

“Yours is really good too.”

“Dude, mine is literally a piece of poop with four legs.” His dog’s legs were different lengths and thicknesses, and one of them didn’t even touch the ground.

Marco laughed as he squeezed newspaper onto his deer’s wire armature. “No, it’s not.”

Eren just shook his head. He knew better than to disagree, because Marco was too nice to admit that anything (except something he made) was less than stellar.

Eren spent the next fifty minute slapping goopy newspaper onto his little dog. He lost track of time, and when the bell rang, his fingers were sticky and his workspace was a mess. “Dammit,” he cursed, shooting out of his seat. His next class was on the other end of campus.

“Sorry, I usually watch the clock better,” Marco said. “Go ahead; I’ll clean up for you.”

“Are you sure?”

Marco smiled and waved Eren away. “Yeah, go ahead. I don’t want you to be late.”

Eren shouldered his book-bag and patted Marco’s shoulder as he headed for the door. “I owe you one. Thanks, man!”

“Don’t mention it,” Marco replied as he started crumpling wet newspapers.

“Bye!” Eren called as he slipped out the door into the crowded hallway. It wasn’t that he actually wanted to get to class—because, let’s be honest, only dorks liked being in class—but being tardy meant detention, and there was no way in hell Eren was spending a minute longer in that place than he needed to.

He made it to government with less than a minute to spare. Pretending not to be breathing hard (maybe Armin was right about the whole exercise thing), Eren trudged into the classroom and threw his book-bag down near his desk.

“You were almost late today,” Armin observed.

Eren started filtering through his book-bag for a pencil as he acknowledged his friend. “Yeah, yeah. Got carried away in art.”

“I told you you would actually like that class,” Armin said.

Eren pulled a face. “I don’t like it. Just, Marco doesn’t talk, so I’m kinda forced to actually work.” He placed his pencil on his desk. The late bell rang.

“We have a sub today,” Armin said.

Eren perked up. “Really? Aww, sweet,” he sang. Subs meant no work, at least in Eren logic.

The sub, who never even bothered introducing himself to the class (which probably showed just how little effort he was putting into the job), started passing out worksheets and said in the most monotone voice possible, “Your teacher will be out for a few days. She wants you to finish this and turn it in at the end of class.”

The sub—an aging, tubby man—handed Eren a stack, and, for the record, it had not been Eren’s decision to sit in the front row, but it had either been that or the seat next to Jean Kirschstein, which was absolutely not going to happen. He picked one for himself and then handed the rest to the guy sitting behind him, Connie.

“Worksheet?” Eren muttered, poking the stack of papers with the eraser of his pencil. “Bullshit. This is a fucking packet.” Like hell he was doing a packet, especially a busywork one, so five minutes later found him in the same position, as if staring angrily at the paper long enough might make it spontaneously combust.

He drummed his fingers on his desk and sighed loudly, glancing over at Armin, who was already halfway through the second page. Eren knew he shouldn’t disturb Armin because, unlike him, he was actually trying to get shit done, so instead he stared at the substitute teacher, who was starting to doze off at his desk. He’s got the right idea, Eren thought. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d just been exhausted all day.

But then—

“What d’you think a face tastes like?”

Eren, taken aback, immediately whirled around in his seat and exclaimed, “What the actual fuck, Connie?”

Connie jumped at Eren’s interjection, his phone falling from his hands and clattering on the desk. “Jesus Christ, Jaeger. You scared the shit out of me.”

The girl sitting next to him (and behind Armin) started giggling. “Aww, shuddup, Sasha,” Connie grumbled, shoving her good-naturedly.

Eren stared at Connie. “Okay, but you’re seriously going to need to explain because—”

Connie fervently shook his hands. “No, no, I get it. Here, look.” He unlocked his phone and then handed it to Eren. The web browser was pulled up to the Huffington Post’s site, and the title of the article read: “Florida Man Killed By Police After Eating Part Of Teen's Face.” Eren made a face and stopped reading because… well, that title sort of said it all, didn’t it?

“Where do you find this shit?” Eren sighed, placing the phone back onto Connie’s desk. He leaned against the little metal bar that connected to his seat.

“What” Connie exclaimed defensively. “I’m not allowed to read the news?”

“I didn’t even know you could read,” Eren snorted.

“Hey, shut the fuck up, man!” Connie called angrily, although there as a smile on his lips. He tried to flick Eren’s head, but he was too fast.

Eren laughed. “Aw, c’mon, you walked right into that one.”

During the commotion, Sasha plucked up Connie’s phone. “This article was only published fifteen minutes ago,” she observed as she popped a goldfish into her mouth (every period was snack time for her). “How’d you find it so fast?”

Connie held up his hands, and, pink tinging his cheeks, spat, “Maybe I like news. Maybe I have an app notification set up to tell me when interesting articles are published. Fuck y’all.”

“Whatever, man,” Eren chuckled as he shrugged.

“Eating a face, though,” Connie drawled, drumming his fingers on the plastic desk next to his phone.

“Eating a face,” Eren echoed dully.

There was a moment of silence as they all stared blankly at each other until Sasha asked, “Well… do you think it tastes good?”

“Are you messed up in the head?” Connie shrieked, staring at her with wide eyes.

Sasha shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just saying,” she said quickly. “Why else would you eat a guy’s face?”

“Because you’re messed up in the head, that’s why!” Connie said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “It was just some crazy, insane dude.”

Eren rested his chin on a closed fist, watching them bicker, not really having anything worthwhile to add to the conversation—because, hey, he figured Connie was right. It was just a weird guy… one of those weird news stories that catches the world by storm for a week or so until everyone forgets all about it, right?

By that point the conversation had piqued Armin’s interest—or, perhaps more likely, Armin had finished the worksheet. He turned around in his seat and politely asked, “Connie, can I see the article?”

“Um, oh, yeah, sure,” Connie said, passing Armin his phone before turning back to Sasha and continuing to list other plausible reasons why a person would eat a face (none of them being that they were tasty, of course).

Eren leaned over so he could read over Armin’s shoulder, since he hadn’t actually read the article in the first place and—he had to admit—he was more curious now.

In summary, there had been a homeless man munching on a teenager’s face. For some reason, the police couldn’t talk him down. They said he had some kind of “super human strength” and it took three shots from the cops to subdue him. Eren didn’t quite catch the end of the article though, because Armin read faster than him, and he wasn’t going to say anything about it.

“Very interesting,” Armin said as he handed Connie his phone.

Connie shuddered. “Man, what is it with y’all finding this anything other than freaky?” he groaned.

I shrugged. “What’s the big deal, really?” I asked. “Dude’s dead, nothing more to worry about.”

Armin nodded and said, “Freaky as it is, it was just a onetime thing. More than anything, I’m curious as to why he did it in the first place.”

“I’m telling ya!” Sasha yelled. “Faces must be delicious!”

“Stop saying that!” Connie screeched.

Presumably ignoring them, Armin said, “I actually read about something like his once called wendigo psychosis. Well, not like this but… it comes to mind. I don’t know all of the details, really.”

“You mean like the creepy cannibal monster from _Supernatural_?” Sasha chirped.

Armin shrugged. “According to Native American beliefs, cannibals became monsters called wendigos, so I guess so, yeah. It’s sort of this mental condition where a person craves human flesh and fears that they are a cannibal.”

Brows furrowed, Eren glanced over at Armin. “Wait, really? Something like that actually exists?”

“Not really,” Armin admitted. “Maybe. Not anymore, at least. And if it does, it’s in small sections of the world. Not here. And it’s sort of debated. Like I said, I don’t know much about it, so don’t quote me on any of that.”

“Man, now we got monsters to worry about?” Connies moaned.

Sasha jokingly grabbed Connie’s arm and hissed, “Yep, that’s right! I’m a wendigo, and I’m gonna eat ya!”

Connie let out a high-pitched yelp, and everyone laughed. The conversation shifted to a different topic, and soon Eren had forgotten all about face-eating and wendigos.

The bell rang, and Eren had yet to touch his worksheet. He didn’t even bother to turn it in, because he was pretty sure his teacher wasn’t even going to grade them anyway. He waited for Armin, who was talking to the substitute teacher, and then they started walking to lunch.

Unlike Armin, Eren didn’t bring his lunch, so he impatiently waited in the cafeteria line until he was handed a blue plastic tray with a dubious looking hamburger on it. Eren took one look at it and shuddered, but, hey, it was food. He picked up some french fries, a vegetable tray (because the school forced kids to have at least one healthy thing), a cookie, and a carton of milk that was suspiciously solid.

When he got back to the usual lunch table, Mikasa and Marco had shown up.

“Hey,” Eren greeted as he slid into one of the attached stools, his tray clattering on the table. All three made forms of acknowledgment. Eren turned to Mikasa. “How was your practice this morning?”

Mikasa glanced at him. “It was okay,” she said before taking a bite of the sandwich she had brought from home.

Eren flipped the bun off the top of his burger and poked it experimentally. “You think this is actually meat?” he joked, looking up at his friends.

Armin leaned over his shoulder to look at it. “Maybe,” he said. “But I bet it’s not beef.”

“Stupid government regulations,” Eren sighed. “Remember when school food was actually good?”

Marco sighed a bit dreamily. “I wish we were back in elementary school. The food was great then.”

“You should pack your lunch like I do,” Mikasa suggested. “I can do it for you.”

“Nah,” Eren said with a shrug. “I’ll be fine.” He took a bite out of his something-burger after smearing some ketchup on the bun. “It’s really not that bad.” He wasn’t going to admit it, but a packed lunch actually sounded pretty good. However, he knew he would be too lazy to make one every morning, and he hated it when Mikasa tried to baby him (because she sure did try). So he would deal with the sub-par school lunches.

“Oh, hey!” Eren exclaimed, nudging Armin. “We gotta show them the wendigo thing!”

Mikasa’s head titled in confusion. “Wendigo…?”

“Can you pull it up?” Eren handed Armin his phone and then turned to Mikasa and Marco and said, “Yeah, Connie found this weird news story about some dude eating part of another guy.”

Marco shuddered. “Oh, Jean showed me that. Really creepy. But what’s a wendigo?”

“I’m not really sure,” Eren admitted, shrugging. “Armin spouted something about it. Some kind of cannibal monster.”

“Basically,” Armin said. “Here.” He slid his phone across the table, the article pulled up.

Marco and Mikasa both leaned in to read. “Oh, this is a different one than Jean showed me…” Marco mumbled.

Eren frowned slightly. “Like, a different site or what?”

“Let me read it, and I’ll tell you,” Marco said.

Eren stuffed the rest of his burger in his mouth while he waited, also picking at his french fries and devouring his cookie. The vegetables, of course, were left untouched. He would have drank the milk, but unfortunately it was frozen solid.

Mikasa looked up after she had finished reading. “Strange,” she muttered.

There was a puzzled look on Marco’s face. “I’m not sure if this is the one I read or not. Probably just a different newspaper. They all word things differently.”

“That makes sense,” Armin said as he put his phone back into his pocket. “Everyone wants to word the story differently so more people will read it.”

“Besides,” Eren chimed in with a kidding tone. “What are the odds of two face-eating wendigos showing up in one day?”

Marco and Armin laughed, and even Mikasa cracked a smile.

The rest of the period went by fairly quickly as the four conversed and ate. Mikasa and Armin had to leave halfway through to do test corrections for their physics class, leaving Eren and Marco alone. Eren liked Marco, he really did, but their interactions were usually limited to art and lunch because he was usually glued to Jean Kirschstein, who Eren tried his best to never associate with. Marco was just about the only one who could consistently tolerate his shit. (Eren sure couldn’t).

After lunch was physics, also known as Eren’s nap time. He had given up on thermodynamics on day one.

And then P.E., so at least he got to nail a few freshman with dodge balls. After fifty minutes and three warnings from the coach for Eren to “tone it down,” the dismissal bell rang, and everyone scattered like ants.

Eren didn’t bother changing back into his normal clothes. All he was doing was walking home, and gym shorts would serve that task just fine—it was finally warm enough to wear shorts comfortably, after all. He stuffed his clothes into his backpack and slipped out the of the gym’s back door which led out to the trailers(because the school apparently wasn’t big enough for all of the students even though it was less than four years old). The buses and parkings lots were on the other side of the school, so there was almost no one around.

Mikasa and Armin had to come from the other end of the school (which was about a half mile away—the campus was ridiculously big), so Eren had to wait for them. He leaned against the chain-link fence that separated the trailers from the practice football field. Out of habit, he pulled his phone from his pocket. It was ancient and probably about to combust, but it still did the trick. He swiped the lock screen (he didn’t actually have a password—it annoyed him too much to have to enter it every time he opened his phone), and the wendigo article was open.

A chill crept down his spine as he stared at the article title. When everyone else was around—when he could hear the discussions and laughter of the kids around him—it hadn’t seemed like a big deal. But alone…?

Eren’s thumb hovered over the touchscreen for a moment before jamming the home button. “Stupid,” he muttered out loud. He opened the app drawer and mindlessly pulled up Flappy Bird, and his momentary paralysis was forgotten. He managed to improve his high score to 34 (Armin’s was 245—Eren knew he couldn’t compete with that), before Armin and Mikasa came walking down the hill.

“Hi!” Armin called cheerily as he adjusted his heavy book-bag. “Sorry, we stayed after to talk to the teacher. So how was your day?”

Eren shrugged. “Not too bad. Not great. Mondays always suck, though, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Armin agreed with a nod. “But just think—three months from now, we’ll be high school graduates.” He flashed his friends his widest smile.

“And you’ll be getting ready to ship off to Academic Concentration Camp,” Eren joked.

Armin rolled his eyes and laughed. “I don’t think it’s really that bad,” he replied. Armin had been accepted into Georgia Tech during early admission, and Eren always found time to tease the future ‘helluva engineer’ about it. Eren himself was committed to Georgia Southern. Although Mikasa probably could have gone to any school she wanted with her extracurriculars and test scores, she had decided to go to Georgia Southern with Eren.

“And we have all those wendigos to deal with before then,” Armin added, smiling wryly.

Eren knew he was trying to make a joke, but for some reason, he couldn’t do anything more than stare at him with round eyes for a second or two before saying, “Yeah.” That was all he could get out for some reason.

Eren was uncharacteristically quiet on the walk back. Armin kept up most of the conversation as he started talking about a Spanish project. Eren nodded and made a comment every now and then, but his heart wasn’t in it, and Mikasa was her usual quiet self.

He was too busy thinking about the stupid wendigo story to give Armin his full attention. What if something freak-ish like that happened in their town? Or in their school? _Aww, c’mon Eren,_ he told himself. _You’re more likely to get struck by lightning or be in a plane crash or something._ But those things weren’t scary. They happened all the time (well, at least sometimes). It wasn’t everyday that someone got their face eaten off, though.

Before Eren knew it, he was in front of Armin’s house.

“Do you guys want to come in?” Armin asked, standing in the middle of his driveway. “I just got the _Lego Movie_ on DVD.”

As appealing as that sounded, Eren couldn’t shake his uneasiness, so he said, “I just… maybe later, alright?”

“Maybe we could watch it this weekend,” Mikasa suggested, speaking up for the first time that afternoon. Mikasa wasn’t a fan of small talk. She only talked when she had something semi-important to say.

Armin looked disappointed for a split-second but then he nodded eagerly. “Yeah, definitely. Well, see you guys tomorrow morning!”

Mikasa and Eren waved. “I am not walking tomorrow, Arlert!” Eren called.

Armin laughed and ducked underneath the garage door as it was opening.

“Why didn’t you want to watch the movie?” Mikasa asked as the two started walking down the sidewalk. “I thought you liked it.”

Eren simply shrugged. “I dunno… I got stuff to do.”

Mikasa made a doubtful sound but didn’t press any further.

Their house was less than a five minute walk from Armin’s, so in no time the two were climbing their porch steps and tossing their book-bags underneath the coat rack. Their dad was out of town, and their mom always worked weird shifts at the hospital, so they were used to coming home to an empty house occasionally.

“Hey, I’m gonna make some macaroni,” Mikasa called from the kitchen as Eren struggled to take his shoes off—he always tied the laces too tight. “Do you want some?”

“Ooph—sure!” Eren called as he accidentally elbowed the wall. His shoe popped off, and he tossed it in the general vicinity of the other one. With Mikasa busy, he wandered into the living room, plopped down on the couch, and turned the TV on. His mom must have been watching the news that morning because it was still on that station. And guess what story they happened to be covering at that moment?

“I’m here with Palm Beach County Sheriff Brandon Cooper who witnessed…” Eren sank into the couch and tuned out the blonde reporter’s perky voice. He made to change the channel, thumb resting on the guide button, but he found himself watching the interview instead.

The reporter held a microphone for a burly man with a beard dressed in what Eren could only describe as a stereotypical sheriff uniform. “He was obviously delirious,” the sheriff said. “We’re trying to get him on the ground, but he just keeps charging and snarling. The taser didn’t affect him—”

Scowling to himself, Eren finally worked up the willpower to change the channel. He absentmindedly flicked through the shows before settling on an NCIS marathon, but he really wasn’t paying attention to the show. He flopped over, back to the TV, an rested his head on one of the decorative pillows. He only intended to close his eyes for a second, but the next thing he knew, he was dreaming.

There he was with that annoying blonde reporter and Sheriff Brandon Cooper and the insane man—the wendigo. There were officers shouting, but their voices were distorted as if they were underwater.

Eren couldn’t move, and the wendigo was reaching for him now. Everyone was shouting. The wendigo gurgled and came closer.

_Bang!_

A bullet ripped through the wendigo’s shoulder, but it kept coming, momentarily forgetting the bleeding boy on the ground. Eren felt like he was going to be sick. The boy’s face… it was just a pile of mush and ground beef, and Eren was starting to question how he ever found the idea of face-eating even remotely funny.

_Bang! Bang!_

Two more bullets. Eren wasn’t looking anymore, but he saw the wendigo collapse in his peripheral vision. The officers rushed over to the crumpled boy on the ground.

Eren woke up violently, jolting up, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, fingers curled into shaking fists. He blinked rapidly, and there was Mikasa standing over him. He swallowed, still disoriented, even though he couldn’t remember his dream’s details.

“Are you okay, Eren?” Mikasa asked, her facial features creasing in concern. Her hand was raised slightly, as if she had just shaken Eren awake.

Eren forced himself to relax his fingers and took a shaky breath to calm his racing heart. “Um, I…” He swallowed as he looked around. “I…”

Mikasa leaned closer. “Did you have a nightmare? Are you… are you crying?”

Eren’s hand shot up to his face, and sure enough, here were wet marks on his cheeks that were definitely not drool. “N-no way!” He quickly wiped away the evidence, but now that he was coming to his senses, he certainly felt like he had been crying—he was sniffling a little, his throat felt weird, and his face and eyes were puffy.

“I’m sorry,” Mikasa said, and there was genuine sorrow in her eyes. “If I had known you were having a nightmare, I would have woken you up. But I wanted to let you sleep.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Eren spat, still rubbing his eyes. He could feel the dried tears on his cheek, and he hated it. “I’m not—I’m just…”

Mikasa’s lips pursed slightly. “Well, I did make you mac and cheese. But it’s probably cold now.”

“That’s, um, that’s okay,” Eren replied.

She disappeared into the kitchen for over a minute and returned with a bowl and a spoon. “I reheated it for you.”

“Thanks,” Eren sighed, taking the bowl from her and settling into the couch cushions. The NCIS marathon was still going on, so he directed all of his attention toward the TV. Mikasa sat at the other end of the couch.

Eren dug into his macaroni, not realizing how hungry he had been. It was just the Kraft kind, but it tasted delicious to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mikasa asked when Eren was about halfway through the bowl.

“No,” he immediately said.

She nodded and didn’t say anything more.

“Could you, um, not tell anyone?” Eren asked slowly, pushing the last few noodles around in the bowl, not wanting to be finished. “That I was crying, I mean? Like, not Mom or Armin. It was nothing, I swear. I just don’t want them… it was just a stupid dream. It was no big deal.”

“Okay,” Mikasa said. She sounded unconvinced, but she left it at that. She wasn’t one to pry.

Eren ate the remaining noodles and went to the kitchen to put the bowl in the dishwasher. He returned to the living room and took his space on the couch.

Mrs. Jaeger came home late that night to find Eren and Mikasa collapsed on the couch, snoozing peacefully, _NCIS_ blaring on the TV.

 


	2. This Is It

**March 14, 2014**

School was canceled that Friday.

Eren didn’t mind. To be honest, he was ecstatic. It meant not waking up early, not having to do busy work in government, and being able to put off failing his physics test until Monday (because, let’s be real, Eren wasn’t going to study for it even if he had a whole more three days). Of course, he tried to ignore the reason why school was canceled, but the news stories made that hard.

There had been more reports of wendigos—an _overwhelming_ amount, actually. So much so that the news wasn’t covering specific cases anymore. They were just talking about the “outbreak.”

But there hadn’t been any (confirmed) cases in northern Georgia yet, so that settled Eren’s nerves a little. Besides the stories, everything felt very normal. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had been boring—as usual—and it felt like Friday was just a scheduled vacation day. Since Monday afternoon, he hadn’t had any bad dreams, and the lingering effects of the nightmare had long since faded away.

And so, like any high school senior in his right mind, Eren Jaeger did absolutely nothing productive. He lounged around on the computer, played a couple of video games, and even cleaned his room a little (yes, he was that bored). It was quiet and peaceful. He kept the news off and avoided social media, because he didn’t want to see any of that. He just wanted it all to be over, because the news reports made him angry. There were serious ones, but he’d also seen and heard the jokes. He hated the jokes.

It wasn’t a joke.

Saturday was a lot like Friday. Quiet. Uneventful. Armin came over for a few hours, but his grandfather wanted him home before dark. Everyone was on edge, as if they were bunkering down and waiting for a storm to pass over.

On Sunday, Eren started getting antsy. He hadn’t seen his mother in what felt like days. She was busy at the hospital. When she got home, she told Eren and Mikasa that they had started turning people away. And when the infection spread too far? Well, there wasn’t much they could do but lock them up and wait for a report from the Center for Disease Control.

And still, everything felt normal to Eren, as if the next day, he would wake up early and walk to school with Armin.

Although that didn’t happen, Eren and Mikasa did go to Armin’s house that Monday.

“Be careful,” Mrs. Jaeger said as Eren sat on the stairs tying his shoes.

“Armin’s house is just down the street, Mom,” Eren sighed, moving to his other shoe. Mikasa waited patiently by the door.

Mrs. Jaeger passed be Eren as she walked down the stairs. “I know. But better safe than sorry. I don’t want you to get sick. Remember to wash your hands.”

“I’m not gonna get sick from just walking outside,” Eren mumbled under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” Mikasa said over Eren’s complaint. “We’ll be fine. I’ll look after him.”

Eren sighed, and Mrs. Jaeger patted Mikasa on the shoulder. “I have to go in, but I’ll be back soon.” She looked pointedly at Eren. “Please call me if anything happens.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eren mumbled. He was done tying his shoes, but, for whatever prideful reason, he didn’t want to stand until his mother left.

Her jaw set slightly. “Promise me, Eren.”

“I promise,” Eren snapped.

Mrs. Jaeger stared at him for a few seconds before turning to Mikasa. “You have your phone, don’t you?”

Mikasa nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” Mrs. Jaeger said with a sigh. “Do you two want a ride to Armin’s house?”

“We’ll be fine, Mom,” Eren said impatiently. “We can walk.”

“All right,” Mrs. Jaeger said, twisting the doorknob. “I’ll be back soon. Stay out of trouble.” She fixed Eren with a brief stare as she opened the door. Eren didn’t say anything in response.

“Goodbye,” Mikasa said as Mrs. Jaeger disappeared into the garage. A few seconds later, the car’s engine roared to life, followed by the creaking of the garage door.

Mikasa’s gaze slid over to Eren, who hopped up from his seat on the stairs. “You didn’t have to be so rude. She’s just worried. And rightfully so.”

“Let’s just go to Armin’s,” Eren said, averting the conversation because he was _done_ with being lectured for the day.

After getting ready, they walked down the street to their friend’s house. As expected, it was actually quite peaceful. It was early afternoon, and the sun was beating down on the earth. It wasn’t too hot, thankfully, since the humidity was down, and there was a pleasant wind carrying a crisp smell, and the birds chirped to each other eagerly.

Door to door, it was a five minute walk to Armin’s house. Eren hopped up onto the porch, ignoring the two little steps, knocked twice, and then let himself in. Armin knew they were coming, and the three pretty much lived at each other’s houses anyway.

“Hey, Armin!” Eren called, making himself known. Mikasa shut the front door behind her.

Armin came bounding from the kitchen with a wooden spoon in hand and a smudge of flour on his cheek. “Oh, hey guys. I was just making cookies. Wanna help?”

“Um, _yes_ ,” Eren exclaimed excitedly, bounding past Armin into the kitchen. It was well known that Armin was a pretty wicked baker, and Eren never passed up an opportunity to sample some of his treats.

Armin laughed and turned to Mikasa. “How have you guys been? Haven’t seen you since Saturday.”

Mikasa shrugged. “It’s been quiet. There’s not much to do.”

“Yeah,” Armin agreed. He looked sad for a moment, and then walked into the kitchen, where Eren was eating cookie dough out of the bowl. It was chocolate chip, Eren’s favorite. The dough itself was sweet, somewhat grainy in texture, and the occasional chocolate chunk was very welcome.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Mikasa warned as Eren went for another handful. “It’ll make you sick.”

“YOLO,” Eren said as he licked his fingers.

Armin rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t eat it all. Here, you can have the spoon.”

Eren gleefully accepted the wooden utensil, nursing it slowly as Armin scooped cookie dough with a measuring cup and placed the blobs onto a dark nonstick tray. “I’ve made way too many things these past few days,” he said as he worked. “Cookies today, cupcakes yesterday, and cake Saturday. They’re still some cupcakes in the fridge. They’re strawberry.”

“Ooh,” Eren sang, abandoning his spoon and making his way to the fridge.

“You’re baking a lot more than usual,” Mikasa observed. Armin’s hobby was in no way secret. He usually brought something into school once a week or so, but his current pace were bordering on extreme.

Armin picked up the sheet of cookies and slipped them into the preheated oven. “Yeah, I know. I… I don’t know. It keeps the mind preoccupied.”

“I understand,” Mikasa said. “Eren’s been avoiding the news and the internet.”

“No, I haven’t!” Eren called from the fridge, pink icing staining his lips.

Mikasa gave him a pointed look, and Eren scowled because she was right. “It’s not ‘cause I’m scared,” he said defensively. “Or anything like that. People are just stupid about it.”

After setting the oven timer for twelve minutes, Armin leaned back against the counter. “I think you’re right. People are all expecting this to blow over… I’ve seen a lot of parodies and things.” He fidgeted nervously, fingers grabbing at the hem of his shirt. “And I… I don’t know if it will. I hope it does. But…” He sighed. “I hate this. There’s nothing I can do about it. Except, well.” He motioned towards the oven. “Make cookies.”

Twelve minutes went by, and the first batch was done. Armin put the second one in, and Eren burned his tongue trying (and _succeeding_ , dammit) to eat a cookie before they were done cooling.

Eventually they migrated to the living room and passed the day away by playing Mario Kart, a game that Eren always got way too emotionally invested in—which was unfortunate, given he was the worst player of the three by far. If it was possible to get one’s video game driving license revoked, Eren would have lost his long ago.

After Eren lost for the fiftieth time in a row, he put his controller down, leaned back, and simply said, “I’m done. You guys suck. Let’s play something else.”

“Super Smash Bros.?” Armin suggested.

“Hell yeah,” Eren replied with a fist pump. Senseless violence and button mashing? Now that was a game he was good at.

As expected, Eren did a lot better. He and Mikasa almost consistently switched between first and second. Armin nabbed a higher place than third on occasion, although he generally wasn’t aggressive enough to get the KOs needed to get a high score.

By the time they got bored of that, the afternoon was growing old, and all three of them had ingested way too many cookies.

Eren felt a vibration in his pants. He reached down and pulled out his phone. Eren felt the couch shift as Armin leaned over. “What is it?”

Eren blinked before shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Just a text from my mom. She’s home now.”

“She had to work today?”

“Yeah,” Eren said with a sigh, tossing the Wii remote from hand to hand. “I mean… it’s not really that busy though. There are sick people there, but…”

Armin seemed to understand what he was trying to say—that there were people there, but there was nothing the hospital could do for them but lock them up and wait. “Right,” he said eventually.

Mikasa stirred at the other end of the couch. “If Mom is home, we should probably get going soon.”

Eren sunk deeper into the couch cushion. “It’s boring at home though,” he grumbled. “We can stay a little longer. Not like anything’s gonna happen.”

Mikasa looked like she wanted to argue, but she just shrugged. “We could watch Netflix,” she suggested.

After the three bickered for a solid ten minutes about what to watch, Armin put on _Sharknado_ , which he soon regretted. “What?” he exclaimed. “There’s only, like, two inches of water. How are the sharks getting everywhere? Oh wow, what clever foreshadowing. Wait… wh… why. Why. Why are they doing that? _Why are there so many sharks, darnit?!_ ”

Eren found more amusement in Armin’s heated reaction to the movie than the movie itself.

About thirty minutes in, there was knocking at the door. Eren nudged Armin, who was too invested in explaining how completely unrealistic the movie was to hear it. “Someone’s at the door,” he said, stifling a yawn.

Armin blinked and sat up. “Oh. Hang on.”

Armin’s grandfather, however, descended the stairs at that moment. “Grandpa, could you get the door?” Armin asked, halfway out of his seat.

Mr. Arlert smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Sure. You kids having fun?” Eren liked Armin’s grandfather. He was quiet, patient, and kind. Armin’s parents had died in a car accident when Armin was six, and Mr. Arlert was all the family the boy had left.

“Yeah,” Armin replied with a grin.

Mr. Arlert rounded the corner and proceeded down the hallway towards the front door. The three turned their attention back to the abomination that was _Sharknado_. “What? Where did they get a chainsaw?” Armin asked.

Eren opened his mouth for a witty retort, but he was paralyzed by the heart-stopping scream that pierced the air. _Sharknado_ immediately forgotten, Eren felt his heart leap up in his throat. Time slowed down. That scream—that scream that was still going on—was completely recognizable: Armin’s grandfather.

Before he could process the situation any further, Eren was on his feet, rushing toward the front door. In the corner of his mind, he registered Mikasa yelling his name, but he ignored her. His feet carried him down the hallway and around the corner and…

Eren froze.

Mr. Arlert was crumpled against the wall, arms held up defensively, pinned by a man. No, not a man… Eren’s blood ran cold. It was one of them.

Eren recognized it too. It was one of his neighbors, Mr. Gerard. He was a nice, old man, kept a pretty front yard. Every morning like clockwork, Eren saw him tending to his garden. But this wasn’t Mr. Gerard anymore—perhaps physically it was, but even then, it was hard to recognize him. Part of his left arm and stomach were missing, entrails dangling and dripping, and blood—Mr. Arlert’s blood—splattered his face and stained his teeth.

The reality of the scene hit Eren like a concrete wall. That thing was fucking _eating_ Mr. Arlert.

“Get off of him!” Eren screeched, releasing the pent-up unease and rage that had accumulated in his gut over the past few days. He threw himself at the wendigo, wedging one arm around its neck and yanking backward, desperate to get the thing off his friend’s grandfather.

The wendigo let out a raspy growling noise, but its jaws were locked around Mr. Arlert’s forearm. “Son of a bitch!” Eren growled through clenched teeth. He pulled harder, squeezing his arm into a headlock, and threw his weight backward. It seemed to do to the trick, because Eren found himself landing hard on the floor, pain exploding in his head. He was faintly aware of Mr. Arlert’s terrible screams, and when he looked up, he realized why the man was yelling.

Eren couldn’t move underneath the wendigo’s weight, and its head was less than six inches away. Teeth gnashing angrily, its head turned, and Eren saw the large chunk of flesh wedged in its jaw. It hissed, spraying blood down on Eren’s face.

Fear pulsed haphazardly through Eren’s veins. He couldn’t push the monster off—it was too heavy, crushing his lungs and making it hard to breathe. He could smell it now—like the Bradfords, but worse. He could feel its blood seeping through his shirt as it struggled to get closer to him. It wanted to eat him. _Oh God, I’m going to be eaten,_ Eren thought wildly, panicked bile rising in his throat.

…No. It wasn’t ending like that. There was no way. Summoning his strength, he wriggled and barred the creature by placing his forearm against its throat. Its eyes rolled back slightly, and it made a rasping noise. Its one hand rose, coming towards Eren’s face.

But then the burden on his chest was suddenly relieved. Coughing violently, Eren scrambled to his feet to see Mikasa pinning the wendigo to the wall. “Eren!” she called, gaze focused on the snarling man. “Are you okay?”

Eren quickly looked down at his body. Blood-splattered, but none of it was his. “I’m fine!” he said too loudly.

“Open the closet!” Mikasa instructed.

Eren was moving before he even realized it. The coat closet. He tore the door open, and in the same second, Mikasa shoved the bleeding wendigo into it. Eren slammed the door shut and barricaded it with his body. Now that the immediate danger was over, he noticed his heavy breathing and the way his heart was slamming against his chest.

“Wh… where’s Armin?” he asked Mikasa after the two stared at each other for a good moment. He glanced over and saw Armin standing at the end of the hallway, petrified. His blue eyes were blown wide, and his body was visibly shaking.

Mr. Arlert shifted and groaned, and that seemed to spur Armin. “G-grandpa?” he whispered fearfully, rushing forward. Eren, maintaining his defensive stance against the closet door, looked over at Mr. Arlert and winced. His left forearm looked like a ground beef. Dripping blood, his flesh was ripped and tangled, and Eren thought he saw a flash of white bone in the disgusting mix. Mr. Arlert’s eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to be registering anything.

His stomach turning, Eren was really starting to regret eating all those cookies.

Mikasa reappeared—Eren hadn’t even noticed that she had been gone, actually—with a chair. “Here, prop this up,” she told Eren.

Eren quickly swapped places with the chair. He could hear the wendigo scuffling around inside, scraping against the coats and shuffling on the floorboards.

“What’s wrong with him?” Armin asked quietly, looking up from Mr. Arlert. Eren realized that he was crying. “Mr. Gerard… why did he do that? What…” He suddenly turned, fell to his knees, and vomited. Eren flinched, his own stomach turning at the sight.

Eren glanced at Mikasa and wondered if she was thinking the same thing as him—that that _thing_ may have been Mr. Gerard’s body, but it hadn’t been Mr. Gerard. At least not a sane version of him. But he didn’t get an answer.

Mikasa knelt down beside Armin, who had finished retching but was still trembling. “This is really bad,” she said. “Mr. Arlert needs medical attention.”

“Mom is home,” Eren pointed out.

“Eren,” Mikasa said. “Come help me.” She threw one of Mr. Arlert’s arms over her shoulder. Eren winced when he noticed that she’d taken the un-bitten side, but he supposed he was already filthy anyway. More blood wouldn’t make a difference now.

Armin shakily rose to his feet, wiping his mouth with the hem of his shirt. He stared at his grandfather as Eren and Mikasa pulled him to his feet. Mr. Arlert groaned, mumbling a few unintelligible words.

“And… and what about Mr. Gerard?” Armin whispered.

Eren glanced back at the closet. He could still hear the noises. “Well, we can’t let him out,” he said.

“We can’t leave him, either!” Armin persisted.

“Come on, Armin,” Mikasa said, her voice firm. “We need to get to our house. There might be more like Mr. Gerard.”

Armin made a squeaking noise. Throwing one last look back at the barred closet, Eren shuffled out the door.

As much as he had complained about being bored the last couple of days, he would much rather have boredom than this. Because now the waiting was over. The storm had finally hit.

The walk back to the Jaeger household was eerily calm. In some ways, it was like nothing had changed. The sun was setting now, and the air was warm and welcoming. The occasional coo of a mourning dove could be heard along with the chirping of spring peepers. But then there was the low moaning coming from Mr. Arlert, the gaping bite wound on his arm, the blood splattering Eren’s shirt and face…

Just like _that_ , in a matter of minutes, everything had changed.

They encountered no people—wendigo or otherwise—on their way back. Silence choked the air. No one dared say a thing, or at least Eren certainly didn’t. He focused solely on supporting Mr. Arlert, wiping away the blood that threatened to dribble down into his eyes. And then a horrible thought entered his head: _what if one of them got Mom?_ A chill crept down his body. He hadn’t considered it until then, but now he couldn’t _un_ -consider it.

 _No_ , he thought, shaking his head. She was probably in the living room or the kitchen, maybe making dinner, blissfully unaware of the hell Eren had just experienced. God, Eren really hoped that was the case.

Eren’s jaw set, teeth grinding together, as he and Mikasa struggled up the porch steps.

“Armin,” Mikasa said, her voice terse. “Get the door.”

“O—oh, right,” Armin said shakily, brushing past Eren. The porch creaked underneath his weight, and it took him a few jiggles to open the door (it notoriously stuck, especially in warmer weather). It opened with a loud pop, violently swinging outward and knocking Armin off balance.

“Mom!” Eren called. He ignored the compulsory urge to abandon Mr. Arlert and rush inside. There was no answer. “Mom! Are you there?!” Eren yelled frantically.

There was a muffled reply from the kitchen: “Eren? Are you home?”

Relief flooded through Eren’s veins, causing his legs to shake slightly. “Mom… We—we need help!”

Mrs. Jaeger presumably heard the desperation in his voice, because she emerged in the hallway. Immediately, her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes grew wide in shock. “My God, what happened?” she cried, rushing forward and quickly assessing the situation. “I—what… quick, bring him here.”

Eren felt disconnected from his body, as if he was not in control. He and Mikasa brought Mr. Arlert to the living room, where they laid him on the couch. The whole time, the man was muttering about how he was fine and they shouldn’t worry.

“Now, Mikasa, tell me what happened,” Mrs. Jaeger commanded as she fetched the first-aid kit.

Even with the seriousness of the situation, Eren couldn’t help feeling a little peeved when his mother asked Mikasa instead of him. His mother seemed to sense this, and followed her statement up with, “Eren, why don’t you go see if Armin needs anything?”

Eren blinked. Armin. Right. He looked around and realized that his blonde friend was nowhere to be seen. “Um, okay,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

He turned away as Mikasa started explaining. “We were at Armin’s house. We thought there was someone at the door, but when Mr. Arlert opened it…”

Eren tuned her out as he headed back toward the front door. He found Armin crouched against the closed door, knees brought into his chest. He seemed to be staring at something in front of him, but there was nothing there. “Hey, buddy,” he said quietly, digging his fingernails into his palm. He was no good at comforting, especially in this kind of situation.

When Armin didn’t reply, Eren slid down against the wall and sat next to him. “Mom’s, like, really good at taking care of people. He’ll be fine, I bet.” The image of the terrible gash in Mr. Arlert’s arm flashed through his head, and he couldn’t help but doubt his own words.

Armin sighed heavily. “You should’ve been watching the news,” he said, staring down at his knees now.

“Why?” Eren asked.

“Do you… know how it happens?” Armin asked slowly.

Eren shrugged, not quite sure what Armin was talking about.

“Well, according to the news—and there was more than one theory—but it seems that, after a person gets bitten, they get sick too. And grandpa was bitten…”

Tears began to well in Armin’s eyes again. Eren adopted a cross expression. “Just ‘cause some people get sick doesn’t mean everyone does. If Mom cleans the wound and we take care of him, he should be fine. He _will_ be fine, you’ll see.”

“I really hope you’re right,” Armin sniffled.

Eren licked his lips. _Yeah, me too._

After a moment of silence, Armin said, “I thought we’d have more time.” He exhaled through his nose and rested his chin on his knees. “Before it hit us. Maybe they’d have it figured out. A cure, a prevention, something. We don’t know anything. And up until recently, the media’s been treating it as a big joke.”

Eren grunted in agreement but didn’t want to interrupt him.

“It’s not a joke,” Armin whispered hoarsely. The sound of Mr. Arlert’s faint moans echoed throughout the house. “It’s not a joke. And when they all realize that, it’ll be too late.”

“I know,” Eren replied. He imagined what it would be like if his mother was bitten—or worse, _eaten_. What would it be like if she became one of those things? He couldn’t even fathom it.

“Maybe it’s already too late,” Armin said.

The two sat in silence for what felt like forever. When Mrs. Jaeger came to fetch them, telling Armin she did all she could, they migrated to the living room, where they continued to sit in silence. It was the most uncomfortable kind of silence too; it was the sound of waiting. There was nothing any of them could do but wait. The hospitals were no longer accepting bitten patients, so what else could they do?

Mrs. Jaeger turned the news on not long after that, but it did nothing to kill the dread hanging in the room.

Maybe it was because Eren had avoided contact with the outside world the past couple of days, but it seemed that the news reports had taken an entirely different attitude, which made sense. No longer was the topic of “wendigos” the responsibility of the ditzy blonde intern. It reminded Eren of times of disaster, like hurricanes or snowstorms. There was 24/7 coverage, and they played the same information over and over again for people just tuning in.

But this was bigger than any snowstorm or hurricane.

There was footage of the governor, the president, and representatives from the Center for Disease Control as well as shots from officials around the world.

There was one clip that they played nearly every minute that was preceded by the following warning: _Caution. This content may be frightening to some viewers. View at your own discretion._

Eren nearly burst out in laughter the first time he saw it. He knew it would’ve been inappropriate, but the irony hit him hard. It was like it was a preview for a scary movie—except it wasn’t a movie. It was real. Frightening? Hell yeah, it was. How was someone supposed to “view at their own discretion” when it was real wendigo coming for them?

The clip itself was of two wendigos, obvious bite marks littering their bodies, groaning and reaching for the camera. It was shaky, and the audio was poor.

The news anchors gave this advice, to which Eren silently contributed to:

“If you see an infected person, do not attempt to approach or assist them. Please stay in your homes until more information is learned. The infected are known to be violent and dangerous.” ( _You don’t fucking say_ ). “The disease seems to spread through bites and scratches from the infected. If you have been bitten or otherwise infected, seek immediate medical attention.” ( _Except the hospitals are turning people away_ ). “The mental state and capacity of infected patients is still unconfirmed and being investigated by the Center for Disease Control as we speak.” ( _Well hurry the fuck up_ ). “From first contact to full degeneration, the disease takes anywhere between twelve and forty-eight hours to take effect.” ( _Twelve…?_ ).

Eren glanced over at Mr. Arlert. How many hours had it been? One? Eleven more hours, minimum. Eren glanced at his phone. That would be 6 AM the next day. The man already had a fever and was in an out of consciousness. Eren wondered if it was the shock or the disease.

Eren wanted to have optimism. He wanted to believe what he had told Armin—he really did… but he didn’t know if he could.

For the first time in an hour, someone spoke. “Um,” Armin said quietly. “Can I… can I stay here tonight? I don’t think I can…”

“Of course you can!” Eren huffed. He cast a sidelong look at his mother, silently asking permission.

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Jaeger affirmed. “Do you need to get anything from your house?”

Armin glanced toward a window, and Eren could read his mind: he didn’t want to go out in the dark where a wendigo could be waiting, and Eren didn’t blame him. “No,” Armin said. “I’ll be fine.”

Armin ended up borrowing some of Eren’s clothes to sleep in, and if it wasn’t for the bitten man downstairs, it might have felt like a sleepover, and just like a sleepover, both of them were still awake at three AM, lying in Eren’s bed. Armin had originally wanted to sleep downstairs, but Eren had convinced him that it wasn’t a great idea.

It was such a familiar scenario. They had sleepovers often, especially when they were younger, but never something quite like this.

“How many people have been bitten, do you think?” Armin asked quietly out of the blue.

Eren shifted, drawing his covers closer, as if they might protect him. “I dunno,” he replied. “Probably a lot. Probably more than the news reports say. Do you think anyone has died yet?”

“On the news, they said no confirmed deaths. But this one source said… well, it was stupid.”

“What?” Eren asked, curious now.

Armin’s reply was painstakingly quiet, as if he was afraid someone might be eavesdropping. “Well, this one site said that… after you get bitten, you die.”

“But no one’s died,” Eren reminded him.

Armin shook his head, the effect mostly lost in the darkness. “No, like… you die. And then you come back to life.”

Eren scoffed. “That’s stupid. That’s like a bad science fiction story.”

“I guess so,” Armin replied with a yawn.

Silence. And then:

“Do you really think Grandpa will be okay?” Armin asked.

It was 3 AM. Eren was tired, but he couldn’t go to sleep. He was scared, but he wasn’t going to admit it. He was almost positive that Mr. Arlert was not going to be okay, but…

“Yeah,” Eren said. “Yeah, I think so. And, hey, even if he does get sick, we’ll figure it out. They’re working on the solution—the cure. That’s what the news said. Who knows, maybe tomorrow… maybe next week… this’ll all be over with… Armin?”

But when he looked over, Armin had fallen asleep. Eren sighed, rolled over on his side, and tried to follow suit.

When Eren and Armin came downstairs the next morning at 7 AM sharp (Eren wondered how he had managed to wake up that early and then remembered that he hadn’t really slept at all), the first thing that greeted them was an ominous voice on the television:

“The government has declared a state of emergency.”

 _It’s too early in the morning for this,_ Eren thought, but he wasn’t surprised. Actually, he was more surprised that a state of emergency hadn’t been declared _sooner_.

The news reporter went on. “Several safe houses are being erected across the country in major cities and public buildings. Please report to the nearest location. Military personnel are handling the situation. Stay safe. Do not approach the infected. Do not attempt to help them—”

“Eren,” Mrs. Jaeger called from the kitchen. “Armin. Come have breakfast.” She and Mikasa were already up, sitting at the kitchen table. Mrs. Jaeger had a mug of coffee, and there was an empty bowl in front of Mikasa.

Armin ignored her. “How is he?” he asked. His gaze shifted toward the couch, but Mr. Arlert wasn’t there anymore.

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Jaeger replied. “I moved him into the guest room last night. I thought he would be more comfortable there. He had a high fever when I checked this morning.”

“Oh,” Armin said.

Eren could tell that his friend really wanted to see his grandfather, but Eren corralled him toward the kitchen table. “C’mon, let’s have some cereal, and then we’ll go see him.”

Armin reluctantly agreed, slumping into one of the wooden chairs. “Um, Lucky Charms or Chex?” Eren asked, standing in front of the pantry with his hands on his hips.

“Chex is fine,” Armin said.

Eren wanted to poke fun of Armin’s decision (because, seriously, who chose Chex over Lucky Charms?) but refrained given the situation. Even he wasn’t too dense to read the heavy mood.

While Armin ate his Chex and Eren picked the marshmallows out of his cereal, the television was still blaring the same alarm. Although the tone and diction of the message was fairly level and calm, all Eren heard was:

_You are not safe. Get out. Get the fuck out. Now. Everyone is dying._

Needless to say, it wasn’t the best way to start out the day. After a few bites of cereal, Eren realized his stomach wasn’t quite prepared to hold anything of substance, and he pushed his bowl away. Armin ate even less than he did.

Eren was the first one to say it.

“When are we going?” he asked. Not _why_ , not _where_ , because those questions didn’t matter. It was clear that the world was going to shit based on the newscast, even if it didn’t quite feel like it (aside from the previous day’s experience, everything still felt… oddly normal).

Mrs. Jeager stiffened. “Soon,” she said.

Without any sort of announcement, Armin stood, his chair scraping against the tile. “I’m going to check on Grandpa,” he said.

“Armin, wait,” Mrs. Jaeger said, her voice tight.

“What?” Armin asked. There were tears welling up in his eyes again.

Mrs. Jaeger’s jaw set. She opened her mouth and then closed it. She looked like she wanted to argue, but at that moment, the phone started ringing. She snatched it up and held it to her ear. “Hello…?” After a moment of silence, she glanced at Armin and quickly said, “Go. Take Eren with you.”

Eren, who had planned on following his friend anyway, hopped up from his chair. “C’mon,” he said. “You know where the guest room is, right?” He led the way out of the kitchen and headed down a hallway that branched off from the living room. He caught a glimpse of the front door and saw a chair pushed up against it.

The door at the end of the hall was closed.

Armin hesitated in front of it.

“You alright, Armin?” Eren asked.

“Could you… could you open it?”

“Yeah,” Eren replied, brushing past his friend. He grabbed the door handle and twisted it slowly. The door creaked and brushed against the carpet, making a scraping noise. “Uh, Mr. Arlert?”

There was no response from the still figure in the bed.

Eren slowly entered the room, followed by Armin. He leaned against one of the barren walls while Armin took a seat on the bed.

“Hey, Grandpa?” Armin asked quietly. He nudged Mr. Arlert’s arm, and his face scrunched slightly. “Wow, he’s… he’s burning up.” His hand moved to his grandfather’s forehead, and he nearly recoiled at the heat.

Eren placed his hands behind his back, drumming his fingers on the drywall.

Mr. Arlert’s eyes cracked open. “Armin… is that you?”

Armin clutched his grandfather’s hand. “Yes,” he exclaimed quickly, eyes wide. “Are you… are you okay?”

Mr. Arlert chuckled weakly. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “You’re safe, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Armin whispered. “It’s really bad, though, Grandpa. People are getting sick… so many people…”

“Like me,” Mr. Arlert said.

“No!” Armin said forcefully. “I mean, you’re gonna be fine. You’re not gonna be like them.”

Mr. Arlert sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m so cold, Armin. Please be safe. Please don’t let me hurt anyone.”

“I…” Armin stared down at him, unsure what to say. “I will—I mean, I won’t… _dammit_ , you’re going to be fine! You’re going to be…” His throat closed up, and he couldn’t say anymore. He held his grandfather’s hand tightly, as if squeezing hard enough would help him get better.

Eren looked down at his feet. He couldn’t watch the sorry scene. “Armin,” he said.

The blonde ignored him and remained hunched over his grandfather’s form.

Eren sighed. “I’m going to go get chairs, all right?”

Armin nodded mutely.

Eren hurried to the kitchen, stealing two chairs from the table. “How is he?” Mikasa asked.

“Not good,” Eren replied. “Where’s Mom?”

“She got a phone call from Dad,” Mikasa said, turning to stare out the window.

Eren followed her gaze, saw nothing, and then turned away, a chair under each arm. He found Armin in the same place he had left him. “C’mon, sit down,” Eren said as he pushed the two chairs against the wall.

Armin obliged, sliding off the bed and falling into one of the seats. Eren took the other.

It wasn’t long until Armin dozed off. Suppressing a yawn, Eren couldn’t blame him. If Armin was anything like Eren, he hadn’t gotten any sleep the previous night. He stretched his legs and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Several emergency notifications (marked with a red exclamation point) flashed angrily when he unlocked it. Usually such notifications were reserved for tornadoes or bad storms. He slid them away and scrolled through his apps, playing games until he got bored of them (which did not take very long).

Mr. Arlert stirred around noon.

Eren didn’t notice at first, absorbed in his game of Candy Crush, but the faint groans soon reached his ears. Game forgotten, he cast his phone to the floor and shot up. Armin was still asleep.

“Uh, Mr. Arlert?” Eren asked, even though he expected no response. He carefully leaned over the man’s stirring figure. Mr. Arlert’s eyelids quivered before they slowly peeled open. Eren bit down on the inside of his cheek. The man’s eyes were fallowed, and his skin looked horribly pale.

A hissing noise escaped Mr. Arlert’s jaw as he attempted to sit up. Eren took that as his cue to get out. “Armin!” he exclaimed, turning and shaking his friend awake.

Armin yelped as his eyes shot open. “Wh—Eren!”

“Gotta go,” Eren said, yanking on his forearm.

“Wait, what hap—” Armin started, but then his eyes fell on the shifting form of his grandfather. “Grandpa?” he asked cautiously.

Mr. Arlert made a rasping noise and reached toward them, teeth gnashing.

“He’s sick,” Eren said, pulling on his friend’s arm. “We can’t do anything. We have to leave.”

Armin stood petrified. “Grandpa…”

“Armin,” Eren said in warning.

Armin took a step toward Mr. Arlert, reaching out. The man dragged himself forward, snarling. He reached out and grabbed Armin’s wrist and dragged him forward, bringing his fingers to his mouth…

“Armin!” Eren exclaimed, yanking the blonde backwards, breaking Mr. Arlert’s grip.

“I’m sorry,” Armin whispered, allowing Eren to drag him to the hallway. Eren quickly shut the door.

Mrs. Jaeger was back in the kitchen. There were two suitcases next to the breakfast table. “How is he?” she immediately asked when the two walked in, but her tone suggested that she already knew.

Eren just shook his head.

Mrs. Jaeger sighed deeply and looked out the window. “There are two in the backyard,” she said quietly.

Eren rushed over to the window and pressed his face against the glass. Sure enough, there were two men lumbering around. One was caught on the small dog fence up against the porch steps. The Jaegers hadn’t had a pet in years, but it kept unwanted animals off the porch. And wendigos, now, Eren supposed.

“Why don’t you go pack your things, Eren,” Mrs. Jaeger suggested. “We’ll leave soon. The news said the hospital is a safe zone.” She turned to Armin. “We can stop by your house as well.”

“I…” Armin fidgeted, glancing back toward the hallway. “What about…”

Mrs. Jaeger glanced down at the floor. “The hospitals aren’t accepting the infected anymore,” she said.

“We can’t leave him here!” Armin exclaimed angrily, fingernails digging into his palms.

“I know it’s hard,” Mrs. Jaeger said hesitantly. “I don’t want to either, but I don’t see what else we can do.”

Eren, who had been doing his best to stay out of the conversation, felt a strange sensation as he looked upon his mother. He had always thought of her as the ultimate definition of morality. He didn’t necessarily like it all the time (especially when she nagged him about doing his homework or eating gross vegetables), but, in his eyes, she was the textbook definition of perfect. She never did a wrong deed. Now that he thought about it, this was the first time he’d ever seen her like… well, he couldn’t quite describe it. But he knew that it was strange.

“We can’t…” Armin sniffled, obviously trying to keep his tears bottled in.

“We can’t bring him now,” Mrs. Jaeger said definitively. “But we can protect him, leave him with food and water until we can come back. It shouldn’t take too long for them to figure this out. Once we can get him help, we will.” Her eyes grew especially sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Armin. I wish there was something we could do. But we can’t stay here.”

Armin looked ready to argue, but he simply nodded. “Y-yeah, that makes sense, I guess,” he muttered, glancing back to the hallway.

Eren approached Armin and nudged his shoulder supportively, but he couldn’t find any words to say that wouldn’t sound like complete lies.

“Go pack,” Mrs. Jaeger said, suddenly sounding extremely weary.

Eren dragged Armin up to his room, figuring he could at least pack some things for Armin if they weren’t able to stop by his house. “What am I even supposed to bring?” Eren mumbled out loud, rifling through his closet. He ended up with a suitcase full of clothes, his laptop, toiletries, and a few other electronics.

“You should bring pencils and paper,” Armin suggested from the corner of the room. “And books.”

“Good idea,” Eren said, “’cept I don’t have any books.” He threw a few empty notebooks into his bag along with a pack of unopened mechanical pencils. Armin took it upon himself to pull a few books (yes, Eren actually did have a few) from the bookshelf and tuck them among Eren’s other items.

Eren was busy trying to get his suitcase to close when Armin said, “I wish we didn’t have to leave Grandpa.”

Eren paused. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too. But…”

“I know, I know,” Armin sighed. “We can’t. I understand that. I just wish we didn’t have to.” Armin brought a hand to his face, subconsciously pulling at his bangs. “We’re never going to come back here,” he whispered. “This is it.” There was no questioning inflection in his voice. “One bite, and you’re done. We’re all done.”

Eren looked his friend right in the eye. “No, we’ll be back,” he said, and for the first time all day, his words held alarming conviction. “This isn’t the end. We’ll get through this, no matter what. Humanity has recovered from everything nature’s thrown at us. Hell, this is nothing.” He cracked a smile. “You’ll see.” He stood and offered Armin a hand, pulling him up. “We’ll be back in school before you know it. Let’s get going.”


End file.
